


Night Time, Sympathize

by zatannazatara



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Gen, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:30:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zatannazatara/pseuds/zatannazatara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard, for all that he’s told how well he knows Jim Kirk, really fucking does not know Jim Kirk at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Time, Sympathize

**Author's Note:**

> Short, relatively cheeseball "It's Jim Kirk's Birthday and He's Upset" fic.

Leonard, for all that he’s told how well he knows Jim Kirk, really fucking does not know Jim Kirk at all. He supposes that, compared to everyone else on this godforsaken campus, he is the most well-acquainted with him. But even after knowing Jim all of four months Leonard only really knows that his name is Jim Kirk and that he is allergic to every goddamn thing in the quadrant. 

(Leonard also knows that Jim takes his coffee with more sugar than actual coffee, and that his word of choice has been “shit” for the past three and a half weeks. He also knows that when Jim Kirk sleeps he faces the door and lies in the middle of the bed, curled into himself, snoring lightly. Leonard is, additionally, more aware than he’d care to admit that when Jim’s startling, brilliantly electric blue eyes darken with lust and hunger, he always gives Leonard a sideway glance.)

December had come and passed without much thought on Leonard’s part. He chose to stay at the Academy, and though he would never admit it the sole reason he did was because of Jim. Jim, who had nowhere to go but into the black to prove his worth to people who didn’t deserve the goddamn time of day from him. Jim, who agreed to help Leonard overcome his aviophobia despite his already overwhelming courseload. Jim, who time and time again saved Leonard McCoy’s fucking life by just being there, and being him.

The same Jim who, late on Christmas eve, showed up at his door with Chinese takeout and a bottle of bourbon, a smile on his lips and the stars in his eyes.

And in that moment, drunk off his ass singing old Terran Christmas songs with an equally smashed Jim leaning into his side, Leonard felt that he did know him--at least, he knew him as much as he needed to. Because even though he doesn’t know why Jim loves to let his bruises fade with time, or the causes of his scars, Leonard knows that his favourite smell is freshly cut grass and that he adores, above all other things, Leonard’s homemade peach cobbler. And really, knowing the quirks and seemingly unimportant traits of James Tiberius Kirk should be enough knowledge to last a lifetime.

Of course, it never is that easy, and Leonard should have realized that from the goddamn start.

...

A small beep-- _comm alert_ , Leonard registers despite his fatigue--rouses him from the coma he had slipped into only hours before. Two bullshit classes plus an eight hour shift at the infirmary (featuring, it seemed, every single goddamned idiot in Starfleet with enough bad karma to make even Leonard McCoy wary) left Leonard very irritable and not at all impressed when his keycard had disappeared into the depths of his shoulderbag just as he reached his door. He had collapsed onto his bed without bothering to change or brush his teeth, and with one boot still on he had passed the fuck out. 

Groping his side-table blindly, he feels around for his comm unit, holding within it what Leonard suspects is a text from Jim explaining his latest conquest, or an elaborate riddle leading, through a series of steps, to his new favourite bar. Leonard flips open the device and rubs the heel of his right hand against his each eye, one at a time, waking himself up.

0500 [STRFLT] _4 January 2233 marks the death of George Kirk and the destruction of the USS Kelvin. Please join us in honouring the memory of Starfleet’s greatest hero today in the pavilion at dusk._

Leonard reads and rereads the message, turning its contents over in his head. The only conclusion he can come to, however, is “why the fuck did they send this at 0500 hours,” and elects to sleep in until he is good and fucking ready to wake up.

When Leonard awakes a second time, he notices that his flat does not smell of dark roast and pancakes, nor does he hear Jim whistling away the morning in his kitchen, still dressed in the set of pajamas Leonard had lent to him that very first day. This had become customary for Saturday mornings between them, and Leonard had never really thought much of it until his stomach growls in the absence of Jim’s cooking and he’s forced to sit up and make his own coffee. It doesn’t taste nearly as good as when Jim brews it.

Leonard sighs and pads over to the shower, wondering idly just where the hell Jim is.

…

When the sun begins to set and Jim is still nowhere to be found, Leonard really, truly wishes that he knew his best friend better. He hugs a too-thin jacket to his frame and scans the crowd gathering below him in the pavilion, solemn faces worn by all. Jim isn’t among them, and somehow Leonard knew he wouldn’t be. Hoping no one saw him, he flees in search of Jim, the weight of the flask in his breast pocket reminding him that Jim has always been there to pick up the pieces of Leonard’s shattered life, and it’s due time that the doctor returned the favour.

Leonard checks their most frequented bars, restaurants and the like. Eventually he just wanders, his mind on Jim and otherwise unfocused. The sun has all but disappeared behind the horizon, leaving Leonard lost in what he thinks is Golden Gate Park, though he could be anywhere by now. He’s not confident about how much time he’s lost since he let his thoughts drift to the enigma that is Jim Kirk, and he’s not entirely sure he cares. He’ll walk until he finds Jim, of that Leonard is certain.

It takes him another half-hour or so before he sees a figure in the dark, hunched over with knees drawn close to the chest, and Leonard’d be damned if it wasn’t Jim. Setting all logical thinking aside, Leonard approaches the figure without hesitation. It has to be Jim, he’s too goddamn tired for it not to be.

Soulful bright eyes look up to meet his, and Leonard offers him a sad smile.

“Hey, kid,” he says softly. He sits down beside Jim, mirroring his position as he rests his cheek atop his knees. Leonard looks at Jim and Jim looks back.

“How’d you find me, Bones?” Leonard rolls his eyes at the nickname, which brings the ghost of a smile to Jim’s lips. Leonard shrugs and fishes around for his father’s flask. Jim eyes him with suspicion, then relaxes at the familiar sight. He takes a swig and hands it back to Leonard. “Thanks.”

Leonard nods, “Anytime.” They sit in silence, passing warmth and understanding between them in the form of whiskey, allowing their fingertips to brush, their shared looks to linger. Silence has always been more comforting than words with the two of them, and although Leonard would love to pick apart Jim’s brain now more than ever he says nothing, chooses to be exactly what Jim needs him to be tonight.

“I used to hate the stars, you know.”

“Hm?” Leonard turns to face Jim, and finds him flat on his back, a crooked arm tucked underneath his head as he stares up. Leonard slowly lowers himself down, and the moment his head touches the cool grass Jim shuffles closer. Their bodies now aligned, Jim hooks his index finger through Leonard’s, and his heart jumps at the contact. 

“Up until I was fifteen, maybe sixteen, I hated the stars.” Jim squirms a bit, and Leonard moves closer to him, touching their shoulders. “It seemed cruel, y’know? That every night I’d have to look up and see my father’s fucking grave. I got over it, obviously,” Jim laughs, cold and empty.

Leonard doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what he can say, really. It doesn’t seem like Jim is looking for any answers to unasked questions, though, so Leonard stays silent, staring up at the stars. He can understand, from Jim’s perspective, the beauty of space. Even here from Earth the stars glow brilliantly, a stark contrast against the black of night. Leonard can appreciate it, the aesthetic value, so long as he doesn't let his mind stray from that.

Leonard turns to watch Jim now, to watch him watch the sky. Sadness is still etched into his features--hell, it's always there, just hidden behind clever smiles and an air of egotistical confidence--but Jim's eyes twinkle and dance, much like the stars he admires so, and Leonard can't help but chuckle fondly at the thought of Jim Kirk among the constellations. Jim turns to look at him, amused, and their eyes meet, connect to share feelings and words unsaid. Jim leans in to touch his forehead to Leonard’s.

“Happy birthday, Jim.” Leonard speaks quietly, a whisper in the dark. Jim doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t move away; in fact, he inches closer, craving the closeness and companionship that Leonard is willing to provide. The doctor responds automatically, subconsciously, like Jim is his sixth sense and he just--

He just _knows._

So, even though he doesn’t know who Jim Kirk was before they met, Leonard is sure that, to Jim, he knows more than anyone will ever need to. And that, Leonard decides as he lies beneath the stars and the moon and beyond, is goddamn good enough for him too.


End file.
